


It Starts with Property Damage

by uglyNicc



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Anal Fingering, Canon-Typical Violence, Creampie, First Time, Hair-pulling, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rare Pairings, Rimming, Rough Sex, Scenting, Size Difference, Size Kink, Wet & Messy, Xeno, Xenophilia, krogan are hot ok don't look at me like that, might have taken some liberties with krogan physiology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 23:49:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17887469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uglyNicc/pseuds/uglyNicc
Summary: Apparently, Drack wasn't the only one who got a kick out of bar fights. That still didn't explain the very strong, very inviting pheromones Ryder was giving off.





	It Starts with Property Damage

**Author's Note:**

> I finally caved after replaying Andromeda as Scott for the first time, I had to add some of my own krogan/dumbass human lovin' to the pot.

_Thunk._

Drack grinned as the human crumpled to the ground, the thin pupils in his green eyes already darting sharply around the bar in search of the next contender. He never got tired of that sound, that satisfying sensation of his fists connecting.

In the chaos, the krogan cast a quick look to his left to check on Ryder. The human Pathfinder was breaking out of a headlock with surprising ease, his elbow swinging out sharply to catch his turian foe in their vulnerable mid-drift. When the turian doubled over, Ryder’s eyes met Drack’s. The Pathfinder winked and gave a jaunty little salute before launching forward to tackle an angry human rushing toward him.

 _Idiot_ , Drack chuckled in mild surprise. He’d seen the kid handle himself on a battlefield, but was impressed Ryder could do the same during a bar brawl without the aid of his armour or fancy biotics.

Shards of glass rained down over the old krogan’s face, the contact of the bottle barely registering on his protective head plates. Blood boiled within him, pumping through his body like the beating of a drum. He saw the culprit, an angara across the bar. _Oh you’re gonna regret that, squishy,_ he thought as he rolled his shoulders, growling menacingly at the bottle thrower.

He let loose a guttural shout as he charged, the air audibly whooshing out of the shocked angara as he found himself smashed against the wall. Damn, but if this new species wasn’t fun to pummel, Drack thought fondly. They were even squishier than humans, all those weird folds and fleshy mounds.

Drack wasn’t looking to add to their problems by causing a galactic incident so soon after arriving in Andromeda, but he also had no interest in pussyfooting around their new alien allies like the pyjaks back on the Nexus.  
  
If someone started shit with him, the krogan would be sure to finish it.

Breathing hard, Drack scoured the bar for the next adversary and was disappointed to see nothing but unconscious bodies and toppled furniture, broken glass strewn around the carnage like confetti.

 _Just when it was getting good,_ he scowled. He felt a dull ache emanate from his hip and arm prosthetics, as well as his lower back above his nubby tail as adrenaline coursed through him with no outlet. In his younger years, the energy from a stifled Blood Rage could be put to use, pouring out into other work, or into a good rut after a good fight.

Inhaling deeply to exhale a disgruntled huff, Drack’s brows knitted in bewilderment as he felt his plates shift, the blood rushing to a different area. He sniffed the air, and sure enough scented the same something that made heat pool in his gut, his cock twitching behind it’s natural protective casing.

Still sniffing the air trying to find the source, Ryder came bounding toward him, a pleased look on his face and not a scratch on him. He was breathless, but in good spirits as he stretched his arms out above his head. “Told them I didn’t need an army,” he laughed, shaking out his limbs.

Drack shared the laughter, attempting to push aside the confusion between his legs. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he looked Ryder over. He may be one of, if not the oldest krogan this side of Andromeda, but Drack’s sense of smell was as sharp as ever, and the pheromones piquing his body’s interest were definitely coming from his human companion.

“Is that why you invited me here, Drack?” Ryder asked, eyebrow raised in a playful arc. “Is this like… a date?”

 _Shit_ , Drack thought, as he breathed in deep, the head of his cock poking persistently and uncomfortably against the crotch plate of his armour.

Trying to brush off the unexpected bout of arousal, Drack retorted with a wide grin, lips stretched over his even rows of teeth. “Nah, there’d be less of an audience, and a lot more property damage,” he shot back. Scott let out a chuckle and amicably clapped a hand on the leathery scales of the Krogan’s exposed arm.

“C’mon old man, let’s head back to the Tempest, I’m starving,” Ryder said, turning to lead the way back to the ship. Whether Ryder was unaware of the wordless signals his body was giving out, or if he was playing them off to stay professional, Drack couldn’t tell. He did, however, know that he’d never taken an interest in the human form until this moment, when his eyes drifted down Scott’s back as he walked away.

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

Since first contact, Drack had wondered on more than one occasion how humans survived without the acute sense of smell krogan and turians relied on for both survival and to pick up social cues. The spike of arousal and potency of the scent Ryder gave off came as a total surprise.

Did the kid just enjoy a good brawl as much as he did? Or was that release of pheromones a real invitation? There was no outward change in Ryder’s demeanour, none of that “blushing” thing humans did sometimes when they were embarrassed or turned on, which made the pronounced message wafting off the human’s skin that much more perplexing.

Willing his ancient body to settle down, Drack adjusted his codpiece and followed Ryder back to the ship.

 

~

  
  
“Drack!” Vetra yelled over the cacophony of bullets. The exasperation in her voice carried even over the frenzy around them. “You’re in my shot. Again!”

Huffing, Drack brought his hammer down on a kett skull, relishing the loud crunch of bone. “Plenty of other targets,” he yelled, shouldering the hammer in favour of his gun. The deafening blast of the shotgun rang out, blowing back a kett Chosen in a splattering of bright green blood. “Not my problem if you can’t find somethin’ else to shoot,” he continued, not taking his eyes off the wave of enemies popping in and out of cover.

He saw an Anointed raise an enormous gattling gun some distance away, behind the orange glow of one of the enemy shield barriers. Widening his stance eagerly, Drack prepared to charge.

With another loud roar, he was off, feet digging into the Eos sand. Just as he neared and was about to strike with the blade mounted on his barrel, there was a loud crack accompanied by a sudden, brilliant blue flash. Drack teetered slightly, blown off balance by the explosion. It was no easy feat to almost topple a krogan, and when he finished blinking away the blinding light, the Anointed was a lifeless lump at his feet. Ryder stood over the downed foe, an afterthought of crackling blue licking over his armour, a shit eating grin visible behind the visor of his helmet.

“Too slow, old man!” He shouted joyfully, replacing the clip of his assault rifle before mowing down a line of kett rushing their flank. A startled bark of laughter erupted from Drack’s throat as he stood astride the Pathfinder, the two of them conducting a symphony of rattling and explosive gunfire.

Barrels smoking, the last enemy fell, giving way to a stunned silence that rang out across the open plain, the wind kicking up sand over the corpses littering the ground.

Shouldering his firearm, Drack turned to Ryder. “Who you calling slow, pyjak?” He barked in good humour, slapping the human’s shoulder guard harder than was strictly necessary, making the other man wobble forward.

“Just calling it like I see it,” Ryder fired back, rolling his neck and stretching out his back as he recovered from the less than graceful stumble.

Drack’s chuckle died off as his olfactory was suddenly assaulted by the same scent he’d encountered back on Kadara. His keen sense of smell once again led him back to Ryder, who was preoccupied with brushing sand from his armour.

The krogan mimicked the same motion of kicking sand out of his leg guards, when really he was trying to readjust his plates which had started to part hungrily at the bouquet of pheromones Ryder was emanating.

“Saw some mineral deposits behind that transport,” Ryder said, his chin lifting in the direction of the smoking wreck. He gave Drack’s hump armour a slap as he passed, and the krogan again found his eyes pulled down to the rounded mounds of the human’s ass, encased in ceramic plating as it was, as the Pathfinder trod off to recover the resources.

In his preoccupation with watching Ryder walk away, Drack didn’t notice Vetra come up next to him, her mandibles flicking against her jaw as she gave the ancient krogan a once over. She caught Drack’s eye, one of her brow plates arching at him as her mandibles clicked.

Drack had spent enough time with turians in his lifetime to read her look loud and clear.

“Shut up.”

“Didn’t say a word,” she hummed mildly, her sub vocals tittering as Drack turned heel, hunkering away towards the Nomad, muttering about nosey turians under his breath.

 

~

 

The bunk creaked under his weight as Drack tossed and turned, or at least tossed and turned as much as the decidedly Not Krogan Sized sleeping area allowed. He’d been dissuaded from sleeping in the kitchen like he’d originally intended when he boarded the Tempest. The logic that a grown Krogan snoring in the kitchen was somehow unsanitary when Ryder let an actual, flea ridden pyjak have it’s run of the entire ship was lost on Drack.

As he wrestled with wakefulness, Drack stared sullenly at the wall of the enclosed space. The passing of days was hard to track with the amount of time they spent hurdling through space, or under the artificial sunlight of the Nexus, but Drack was pretty certain it’d been about a Tuchanka week of doing his very best to ignore the inviting smell their human Pathfinder had been giving him.

At first, Drack thought it might just be the long stasis of the journey still playing havoc with his hormones. He hadn’t gotten hot and bothered like this for a good long while, even before the voyage to Andromeda. The genophage had obviously put a limit on how fruitful his couplings with members of his own species, but he had definitely done his fair share of breeding. In his merc days, before he became guardian to Kesh, he’d had rolls in the sack with other species that populated the Milky Way as well, and like those with fellow krogan, some were more memorable than others.

He’d never taken a tumble with a human though, and truthfully usually flipped past the human spreads in Fornax to something more his taste. That he was even imagining banging a human now in this stage of life baffled him. Asari skin even looked tougher than the stuff that kept human parts on the inside, and Ryder wasn’t even the most remarkable human he’d met over the centuries. The kid was a messy cocktail of humour and awkwardness, set ablaze with a scorching fire to prove himself.

Still, Drack thought darkly, the smell of their Pathfinder had proven to be the gateway drug that now had him constantly watching the human’s back a little too closely, especially as Ryder had brought the krogan out on every expedition since Kadara, a fact not lost on the old man. While thrilled at every chance to mow down and bludgeon hostile aliens to a bloody pulp, chasing the blood and mayhem with that tireless dose of pheromones that followed was quickly becoming a compulsion.

Even now a tingle of excitement shot directly to his groin as he recalled that enticing, alien musk, which was cause for more than a little embarrassment on the krogan’s part.

Throwing the covers off irritably, Drack rolled out of the bunk, the thud of his feet echoing in the silent crew quarters. The bed frame gave a relieved creak as he pushed himself up. He was thankful that no one seemed to actually use these bunks, everyone holed up in their chosen corners of the ship, ensuring there were no eyes on the predicament he was having below the waist.

Muttering a frustrated curse he waited for his blood to calm. Lately, he was worse than a pup fresh for the rite, plates parting at the slightest provocation. Stubborn to his core, he should have just rubbed one out and gone to sleep, but instead decided a late night snack would be less humiliating than getting intimate with his good hand.

When the kitchen doors slid open, Drack immediately regretted his decision. Despite the late hour, Scott leaned against the low stainless steel counter, clad in nothing but boxers, a bowl and spoon in his hands.

“Omf, ‘ay ‘ack,” he mumbled through a mouthful of cereal as he waved his spoon at the krogan visitor. He swallowed loudly, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand before digging the spoon into the Blast-O's. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

Drack grunted a wordless greeting as the door whooshed shut at his back, enclosing him in the small space with the casually half naked human. Stomping towards the fridge and yanking it open, Drack nosed around for something he could down quickly then retreat to his bunk.

He grit his teeth, wanting to give himself a swift kick in the quad for acting like some jelly legged hanar at his age.

Grabbing the first thing he saw, which happened to be a particularly unappealing ration bar, Drack slammed the door shut and settled down onto the narrow bench along the wall. For a while, the only sound in the kitchen was Scott’s relentless crunching and the fumbling of the ration bar wrapper that Drack’s real and prosthetic hands were definitely too big for.

Ryder set his dishes in the sink. “Need a hand, big guy?” He teased, observing the struggle. “Or, uh, less hands?”

Drack wordlessly extended the abused bar to Ryder, who ripped it open in one swift motion before handing it back.

“Thanks,” Drack mumbled, reaching for the bar, his blunt claws and leathery palm brushing over the back of Scott’s hand roughly as he did so.

The krogan audibly cursed as Ryder’s scent filled the room like a flash flood. At the end of his short supply of patience, Drack tossed the uneaten bar carelessly across the table and glared accusatorially at a very confused Ryder.

“What the hell’s goin’ on, kid,” he growled, fixing the human with a harsh stare, refusing to let his eyes wander over the parts of the Pathfinder not usually visible.

Scott blinked dumbly at him. “I…opened the ration bar and—“

Drack waved his arm irritably. “Nah, nah,” he cut in, teeth barred. He was tired of dealing with this throwback to his pre-rite days and wanted it put to rest.

“You have any idea what you smell like?”

“I’m…sorry?”

Drack rolled his eyes. “Your scent. C’mon kid, you grew up in the Milky Way, must have retained at least the basic shit about aliens in that thick skull of yours.”

Ryder continued to regard Drack quizzically as the krogan pushed off the bench and closed the distance between them in just a few, heavy strides.

He had to give the kid credit. Even as allies, having a full grown, full bodied krogan advancing must be an intimidating sight, but the Pathfinder didn’t so much as flinch.

“You keep sending me all these…signals,” Drack rumbled low in his throat, licking his scaled lips, the air so thick with the kid’s scent he could taste it.

Up close, Ryder’s face remained impassive, but Drack could see a muscle clench in his jaw, his throat tense as he swallowed. Before he could stop himself, Drack breathed in deeply, his chest puffing and bumping against Ryder’s as he held the human’s aroma before exhaling a predatory huff of air into the other man’s face.

“What signals am I sending? Exactly?” Ryder asked evenly, not shrinking back, his own breath hot against Drack's tough skin.

The lip of Drack’s mouth curled up, the spike of arousal filling his nostrils. His plates parted under the thin sleeping garment, his head swimming with the warm scent. He gripped the metal counter on either side of Ryder, leaning in mere inches from the human’s face, caging him in the bulky circle of his arms. His eyes roved down over Ryder’s body, taking in the light peppering of hair on the backs of his arms, the coarse, dark trail that started below his navel and disappeared down into his undergarment.

“The same signals you’re sending me now, Ryder.”

Boldly, Drack tilted his head and scented the skin just beneath Ryder’s ear, the spikes on his chin scraping lightly over the exposed shoulder. Scott didn’t pull away, but visibly shivered, an array of tiny bumps spreading over the bare skin.

 _Duck bumps?_ Drack tried to remember what this human phenomenon was, but quickly pushed the thought away as he noted with smugness the slight tent forming in Ryder’s boxers. His own plates spread wider in answer as blood and heat raced through him.

“Wow, Drack,” Ryder spoke in the same even tone, though his voice had taken on a strained edge. “If I knew you were an option, I’d have given you more than just signals.”

Drack snorted, nosing against Ryder’s neck, the skin even softer than he’d imagined. “You obviously haven’t tussled with krogan before, kid,” he rumbled. “If you think you need to toss out shit lines like that to get laid.”

Ryder sighed as Drack pressed forward, closing the gap, his rough plates scraping over the smooth flesh of the Pathfinder’s torso. Scott’s hands gripped the ridged edges of Drack’s hump, pulling him closer, head rolling back as the krogan’s wide tongue licked a wet swath over the exposed skin.

As he closed his stubby fingers over the taut muscle of Ryder’s ass, Drack silently took back all his snide comments about humans being too squishy. It definitely felt entirely alien from anything he’d experienced before, but it was not entirely unpleasant.

He could only imagine that Ryder was having similar thoughts, nimble fingers roving over the bumps and points of Drack’s upper body as the krogan lathed at his neck. Human fingers dragged over the thick scales on his shoulders and bicep, exploring the scarred, overlapping plates of his chest and abdomen. Drack let out a surprised shudder of breath, a ripple of heat licking through him as Scott’s fingers pressed into the narrow spaces between his natural armour.

Proving yet again that he was a fast learner, Ryder repeated the motion, pressing his thumbs into the gaps, gasping as his ministrations drove Drack to tighten his grip on his ass in response.

Continuing to explore the bumps and crevices, his palms ran over the slight curvature of a gut that had seen one too many canisters of ryncol over the years. It’d been a while since Drack had someone pay this close attention to him, and even longer since he’d had to accommodate a smaller partner, keenly aware of their pronounced size difference. He kneaded the flesh under his hands as Ryder’s palms finally came into contact with his fully extended cock where it strained against the fabric of his sleeping clothes.

“Holy shit,” Scott exhaled against the leathery folds of the krogan’s throat, resting his forehead against Drack’s shoulder as he peered between their bodies, pads of his fingers stroking the ridges and bumps through the tented cloth.

“Much as I wouldn’t mind getting railed right here in the kitchen,” Ryder laughed nervously, not looking up as his fingers curled experimentally around the massive girth through the fabric. “Think I’m gonna need a bit more than cooking oil to be ready for this.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, kid,” Drack grunted as he lifted Ryder clean off the ground. The Pathfinder let out an indignant noise as he scrambled to cling to the krogan as he was hoisted in the air.

Carrying Ryder the short distance to the man’s private quarters really drove home just how tiny humans were. Sure, Ryder was pretty toned from traipsing around in several pounds of weaponry, but he still weighted next to nothing in Drack’s arms. Drack was pretty sure he'd owned sets of armour heavier.

As the door shut behind them and Drack marched them purposely toward the bed, Ryder quickly called out “SAM, log off or go to sleep or whatever you need to do to get out of here.”

SAM’s voice lilted cooly across the room. “Ryder, I detect elevated levels of—“

“Now, SAM!”

The pulsating blue light at the corner of Drack’s vision switched off. “Understood, Pathfinder.”

Drack dropped Ryder down unceremoniously on the bed. There were red indents crossing the human’s torso, some more pronounced than others where soft human flesh had pressed a little too eagerly against hard krogan plates back in the kitchen. A rumbling growl bubbled up through Drack’s throat, imagining the state Ryder would be in tomorrow.

Pushing himself up on his elbows, Ryder’s eyes were trained on the waistband of Drack’s shorts as he pulled the garment down over his muscular thighs, kicking them aside carelessly. Drack was about average size for a krogan, his member in proportion to his hunkering frame, but that meant absolutely nothing given the relatively small stature of his potential bedmate, who was gaping slightly as he regarded the alien appendage in it’s full glory.

Undeterred, Ryder sat up, shuffling to the edge of the bed, his hands resting firmly on Drack’s hip spurs. Drack swallowed a lump in his throat as Ryder tentatively nuzzled the thick veins and ridges of the ombre flesh with his cheek and lips.

As good as it felt, Drack resisted the urge to laugh as Ryder’s mouth closed over the leaking head, lips stretched wide around just the bulbous tip. The wet heat made him groan as Ryder struggled to take more of the massive length into his mouth, the palm of one hand fondling his quad.

Drack admired the determination, but kept in mind this might not bode well for the rest of their encounter.

Digging his triad of fingers into Ryder’s hair, Drack pulled him off his shaft with a loud pop, pink tongue hanging out of the human's mouth obscenely as he looked up, eyes cloudy with want.

“I’m as ready as I’m gonna get, Ryder,” he growled, releasing the man from his grip. “You, on the other hand —“

Without further preamble, Ryder turned and sprawled out on his stomach across the bed.

 _Figures,_ Drack thought, _that this human would just offer himself up to a goddamn krogan without any prep_. He was about to scold the idiot when he realized Ryder wasn’t just presenting himself but was actually reaching across the mattress to the bedside table, shuffling back to his sitting position at the edge of the bed once he’d fished out a bottle of lube.

Turning the bottle over in his hands, Ryder let out another nervous laugh. “We, uh, haha, might have to go through this whole thing…” He trailed off, eyes darting back between Drack’s legs where his length hung heavy and dripping.

With a slight crick in his back and a muttered curse, Drack bent down and grabbed one of Ryder’s ankles without warning, pulling it with him as he rose, toppling the Pathfinder onto his back. Ignoring the confused squawk, he yanked off the boxers and tossed them over his shoulder.

Drack had never been called 'cute' once in all the centuries he’d been alive, but he figured it might be a buzzkill to have your dick complimented as such. He’d of course glimpsed human genitals in Fornax and in merc camps as multiple species co-existed in the often limited facilities. You didn’t share a galaxy with other sentient beings and not wonder what they had going on below the belt.

And humans, well…He never realized they were just…so…small and pink? And only one set of balls? It’d only taken hundreds of years for him to see the appeal of the squishies. To borrow the human expression, it showed how an old dog could learn new tricks, he thought ruefully.

Pushing Ryder up the bed towards the headboard, Drack kneeled on the soft covers, the bed dipping low under his weight as he pressed the other man’s legs back and apart. He leaned in, and if Scott was uncomfortable with how he was being bent almost in half, he made no comment.

Bright green eyes darted up to Ryder, who met his gaze, hot with anticipation, chest rising and falling rapidly, swollen pink cock weeping against the taut muscle of his stomach.

That, and the lust emanating off his body in palpable waves, was invitation enough for Drack.

Pressing the tip of his tongue to the small pucker between Ryder’s cheeks, Drack gave an experimental lick, pressing the flat of his broad tongue over the hole, up over his balls and across the length of his shaft.

He felt Ryder twitch under the attention. A strangled rattle of breath escaped Ryder’s mouth as the krogan took another slow taste. Encouraged, Drack licked slow circles around the tight ring of muscle, leaving it slick with saliva before pressing past it, thick tongue wriggling shallowly in the narrow passage.

Drack groaned, his cock straining painfully as his tongue delved deeper into the constricting heat, imagining what it would feel like rutting into.

He glanced up and saw Ryder breathing hard, jaw slack as he watched the krogan between his splayed legs. He still gripped the bottle of lube, and squeezed out a generous dollop over his fingers.

Drack withdrew his tongue, releasing one of Ryder’s legs to run the coarse pad of a stubby finger through the saliva, pressing it into the slick heat his tongue had just left. Ryder gasped, reflexively recoiling from the unexpected intrusion before bearing down on the wide digit. He snaked his own hand down, lube slick fingers joining Drack’s.

Teeth bared, a predatory growl rose up from Drack’s chest as Ryder slipped a finger in alongside the krogan’s, the two of them thrusting in and out in clumsy tandem. Ryder pressed in another finger through the mess of saliva and lube, scissoring them as best he could while Drack relentlessly swirled his, stretching the opening as much as he dared.

“Drack,” Ryder pleaded hoarsely, voice thick with lust as his free hand stroked himself slowly.

Drack looked skeptically to where their fingers were still buried to the knuckle.

“If you think you’re ready, kid,” he grunted, withdrawing his digit and flipping the other man onto his front with ease. Taking the hint, Scott raised himself on all fours, extending the bottle of lube behind him. Taking the offer, Drack took another look at Ryder’s pert ass before emptying the entire contents of the bottle over his length, slicking himself up in long, twisting strokes.

Adding the excess to the already slick mess between the cleft cheeks, Drack took a steadying breath, his prosthetic hand resting firmly on Ryder’s tailbone, the other wrapped around his erection to guide it into his partner.

He heard echoing, steadying deep breaths from Ryder as the smaller man braced himself. Doubtful this was going to work as planned, Drack inched forward.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” he heard Ryder chanting as his body stretched around the rounded tip. He dropped to his elbows, hips raised, his forehead resting on his clenched fists. The human let out a startled cry as the head slid in, and Drack clenched his jaw, willing himself not to plunge forward as instinct would have him do.

“How ya doing there, Ryder?” He asked, voice tense. He stayed as still as he could manage, absently rubbing slow circles into Ryder’s lower back as he waited for the other man to adjust. After a few more deep breaths, Ryder’s hips gave an experimental wriggle, moaning as another slow inch sunk into him.

“K-keep…keep going,” he gasped.

Drack didn’t need to be told twice. Fighting his primal urges was making his joints and muscles physically ache with the strain, but he was still conscious of the fact that he was now only a third of the way in and was already meeting resistance. He pulled Ryder slowly towards him, watching himself slip incrementally deeper.

When they reached the halfway point, the krogan paused. “How ya doin’ there Pathfinder,” he teased, both relishing the constricting heat and desperate to delve fully into it.

Scott let out a breathy chuckle. “F-fine,” he gasped, working his hips in the same small, circular motions. “Just…f-full, so fucking full already.”

“Almost there kid, you’re doing great,” Drack praised, his voice low as he watched the point of their joining. Honestly he didn’t think they’d even get this far, figuring Ryder would either be in too much pain and call the whole thing off, or maybe end the evening with a quick hand job for the trouble.

At this rate, the idiot might just pull it off, and Drack had to admit he was more than a little relieved. Once he’d felt the tight squeeze around him, he realized just how disappointed he’d be if they weren’t able to complete this impromptu, interspecies tryst.

Drack’s head lolled forward, his fingers gripping Ryder’s hips as finally, finally, the smaller man was flush against him, every inch of his cock swallowed up by the human writhing below him.

The moan Ryder let out once Drack bottomed out was utterly filthy, the fresh bouquet of arousal wafting off his body making the krogan’s cock twitch within the tight confines. Drack’s eyes drank up the unfamiliar sight beneath him with a hunger new to him; a sheen of sweat glistened between Scott’s shoulder blades, short hair damp at the nape of his neck, skin flushed.

Giving it a few more seconds, Drack slowly withdrew, the ridges and bumps of his cock dragging and catching at Ryder’s inner walls. He thrust forward, loosened pelvic plates pressing into the mounds of Ryder’s cheeks as Drack sheathed himself once more. The Pathfinder pushed back, letting out a pleased hum as he was impaled on the wide length.

After a few more cautious motions, Drack picked up speed, pulling Ryder’s raised ass back a little harder onto his cock, the abundant amount of lube making wet sounds between their joined bodies.

“Fuck,” Ryder hissed, voice muffled against the sheets, knuckles white as he dug his fingers into the mattress.

“Too much?” Drack asked, swallowing his palpable disappointment, reluctantly stilling his hips. Heat coiled in his gut, blood hot as it coursed within him, his quad full and tight against his body as his scales prickled.

Ryder craned his neck again, making Drack growl in surprise as the smaller man pressed back insistently, grinding his ass against the hard plates behind him.

“Too slow,” Ryder clarified, raising himself back onto his palms. He twisted his hips, churning Drack’s length within him and making the krogan thrust forward involuntarily at the unexpected movement. “You’re not….not gonna break me,” he panted. “Hurry up and fuck me already,” Ryder demanded breathlessly.

Chuckling and rolling his eyes at the bravado, Drack conceded. “Ok, ok, but if anyone comes asking why the pathfinder’s bedridden for a week —“

He broke off in a moan as Ryder continued to grind against him impatiently. “Alright, alright!”

He shifted on his knees, anchoring himself as best he could, his remaining heart racing in his chest. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, kid.”

Ryder shouted in surprise as Drack snapped his hips, jostling the human’s entire body forward with the force of the thrust. As requested, Drack didn’t hold back, pumping his hips in a brutal rhythm, the ridges of his thigh plates chaffing the smooth skin on the back of Ryder’s legs, blunt claws leaving angry red welts where they dug into the supple flesh.

It felt good to let loose, Drack admitted, vaguely trying to recall the last good fuck he’d had. As the years wore on and his sex drive dwindled, such opportunities were fewer and far between, often complicated by the physical limitations of age. Ryder may have lucked out going after a krogan as old as Drack; despite the human’s confidence that he could take the full brunt of a rutting krogan, someone younger with full mobility and both hips intact might actually have broken the Pathfinder.

Turning his full attention back to the task at hand, Drack hammered into Ryder. The other man’s spine was arched, head thrown back as he let Drack hold hid hips firmly in place, strangled gasps and broken off pleas escaping his lips. Drack didn’t know the specifics of human physiology, but the hoarse yell he wrenched out of Ryder when he changed the angle of his thrusts seemed promising, and he tried replicating the motion.

“Christ,” Scott groaned, one of his hands reaching back to grip the krogan’s good hip. Snapping his teeth in a natural act of aggression, Drack reached for a fistful of Ryder’s hair, gripping it harshly, the arc of the other man’s back deepening. Ryder swore loudly, a fresh flow of profanity and pleas and praises rushing past his lips as Drack fucked him in earnest.

Drack didn’t relent, the very vocal encouragement enough to convince him the human Pathfinder liked it rough.

The coil in his gut wound itself tighter, blood pounding behind his eyes and heart thudding in his chest as Drack picked up the pace, joints and muscles now protesting the prolonged use, but he was too close to care.

“Ryder,” he rumbled, teeth bared. His prosthetic hand on the man’s hip slid round to press against the taut lines of Ryder’s abdomen, pulling the human’s back flush against his chest. Sure it was just his imagination, Drack swore he could almost feel the tip of his own cock under the thin skin and muscle as he plunged deeper and deeper into Ryder’s smaller frame.

Ryder gasped. “Holy fuck.”

Trapped by the sturdy arm around his mid section, head pulled back by the firm grip in his hair, trusting Drack’s superior strength to keep them both upright, Ryder surrendered himself utterly to the krogan’s hold, letting his body be bent and manhandled. Releasing his grip on the old man’s hip, one hand gripped the prosthetic forearm wrapped around him, the other sliding down between his own legs to clumsily pump his own straining erection.

Drack could feel the heat of Ryder’s body through his chest plates, knowing he must be scratching up the soft skin something fierce under his continued onslaught, racing faster and closer to the edge, leathery scales and supple human skin slapping together loudly in the silent room.

As he felt the coil within him ready to snap, his quad pulsing with impending release, Drack tasted the salty tang of sweat as he ran his tongue over Ryder’s shoulder before clamping blunt teeth over the pliant flesh as he came. He growled against Ryder’s skin as he spilled deep into the Pathfinder’s tensed body. Already stretched and filled to capacity, hot, sticky come ran out of the confined space in slow rivulets down their legs, dampening the sheets where it fell.

Feeling the rush of come as Drack swelled inside him, Ryder came with a loud, drawn out cry, his own climax falling against the sheets. Shudders ran through the body in Drack’s arms as Scott’s strokes slowed. Cock still pulsing and leaking as Ryder’s body spasmed around him, Drack absently rubbed Scott’s abdomen, his brain thick with the fog of orgasm as his blood cooled and slowed in his veins.

As the hazy afterglow rippled through his tired body, Drack released his tight hold on Ryder, easing the smaller man back down to the bed. His softening cock slipped free, another stream of come following it on the way out.

Resting back on his haunches, Drack admired his handiwork; Ryder lay boneless against the bed, his cheek against the sheets, a stupid grin on his lips. There were angry red scratches and scrapes all over his body, the skin on the back of his thighs and ass chaffed slightly from the rough contact.

Had Drack been a few centuries younger, the sight of Ryder’s stretched opening, come spilling from the abused hole, might have gotten the krogan going for another round. As it was, he was ready for a well deserved nap.

Rolling onto his side, Ryder regarded the Krogan, who hadn’t yet moved from his kneeling position, his length retreating back behind his shifting pelvic covering.

“You can crash here tonight, if you want,” Ryder offered, gesturing limply to the rest of the bed. Drack let out a snort of laughter. “I’ll take a rest here before cleaning up and heading back to my bunk,” he replied, taking in the damp spots littering the white sheets. “Save you the trouble of explaining why a krogan's leaving the Pathfinder quarters in the morning.”

Scott laughed, flopping onto his back, bending his arm at the elbow to pillow under his head. “I dunno,” he grinned, the same idiotic smile he had on his face when he was charging recklessly around a battlefield. “Might do them good getting used to the sight.”

Hearty laughter wracked Drack’s exhausted frame. “Don’t get too cocky, kid,” he fired back. “It was fun, but don’t expect this to become a regular thing.” To emphasize his point, he gave his prosthetic hip a light slap. “This broken sack of bones isn’t built for this kind of work.”

“Work?” Ryder raised an eyebrow at him as Drack eased himself down, the bed dipping sharply as he dropped onto his stomach next to Ryder.

“Y’know what I mean,” Drack muttered, resting his spiked chin over his forearms. The position made his shoulder ache at the joint between sinew and artificial prosthetic and put extra pressure on his artificial hip, but he only intended to lay there for a bit.

Ryder shrugged his shoulders, turning his gaze up to the ceiling. “Still,” he said offhandedly. “Consider the invitation open.” He turned his head to peer at Drack from behind disheveled strands of hair that fell over his forehead. “We’ll see how long you can stay away.”

Drack chuckled, closing his eyes as he kneaded the stubby claws of his toes into the soft mattress. “Smug lil’ pyjak…Fine,” he grunted, feeling sleep tug at him impatiently.

“I’ll try and keep you alive a while longer then,” he mumbled, settling in for a quick nap.

“At least long enough so we can do some real damage next time.”

 


End file.
